The manager who seems obliging guides us by saying ‘this way’,
Turning on the light on the long hallway, she says ‘Red to the right’,
The destroyed revolving door; blissful artifical flowers on the floor,
I passed the setted wall as if I energy to pass through it

Where’re you going baby?
I wait on this chair; don’t open your eyes until I count to seven

Pret un, the dewdrops of night on your neck; to the extent that you lost your voice,
Deux, from the mechanical treets to between your fingers,
Trois, the spider web which entangles and entangles like this, continously,
The sandclock which started to go backwards to 9095

The noise that echoes throughout the long hallway, ‘Have we met before?’,
‘The blue to the left of the red’,
The rusted angel’s wings; yesterday’s dream that has been deferred,,
Concealing your eyes from the direction of the claps

Who are you? Tell me baby,
You won’t show it to anyone, even if you put your hands on the mirror

Et quatre, the scent of nostalgia even on your back, your hot breath,
Cinq, the eyes which rise even in the darkness; if it’s not permitted,
Six, if your tears are reviving, then somehow,
The remains which slowly come to live in 9095

Don’t try to find anything more than this for I’ll be by your side,
Even though you can’t go back once you have opened your eyes,
If you still like it then, silently,

Pret un, the dewdrops of night on your neck; to the extent that you lost your voice,
Deux, from the mechanical treets to between your fingers,
Trois, the spider web which entangles and entangles like this, continously,
The sandclock which started to go backwards to 9095

Et quatre, the scent of nostalgia even on your back, your hot breath,
Cinq, the eyes which rise even in the darkness; if it’s not permitted,
Six, if your tears are reviving, then somehow,
The remains which slowly come to live in 9095